Walk GB 4 Climb  

The View from the Front

 

 

 

AT A LOOSE END

Walking along the main road between Inverness and Nairn I noticed an elderly man standing in an enclosure on the opposite side of the road. He was looking over the border hedge and held a garden rake in his hand 'at ease' fashion. Seeking to engage him in conversation I ventured to cross the road pausing only to allow a biker to roar through doing at least a ton.

I could see that the old boy had cut a lawn and commended him on his efforts. He replied 'Ah yuu se therr need fur ah kut and again awa' 

I tried again.

Holding his rake up to point he went on 'Och eye tis awl here fur mee to doo.

I could not help noticing that every response I drew from him resulted in an increase in mouth lubrication and further dislodgment of his dentures. One over emphasized syllable would surely propel them in my direction.  I held my map case

up to ward off any first missile strike.

One could imagine the Press headlines should this to happen.

'the only remaining septuagenarian circumnavigator of Great Britain was found lying at the side of a road with a set of teeth embedded in his throat'.  An Eye witness stated that he saw an elderly man bending over the body. He commented further that with his mouth now free of its burden his embouchure would be in good shape for a gurning contest.

Standing over him was a burly traffic cop who was heard to say 'Listen Pal, yu start usin gum fix from now on or the Procurator Fiscal will hear about this do-y-ken'

As one Press release put it 'hardly been a fitting demise to this grand old man of the open road, more a loose fitting one'

 
 

05 Oct 08  Earlier in the year there came a time when I was obliged to widen my accommodation experience i.e. actually pitching the tent I had been carrying for so long.

Due to combined efforts with CLIMB I had been spoilt having been kept under roof for the first three months. So towards the end of a day in early spring I found myself slumped on a coast path bench wondering where on earth to pitch. Suddenly I heard a call. 'Yoo Hoo'

It was coming from a caravan site to my left. A middle aged woman was beckoning me over. This seems promising I remember thinking to myself. I wandered over.

'I can see you are tired and thought you would like a cup of tea. Oh my name is Joan by the way'.  She led me into the van where a man sat intently watching the TV. It was horse racing from Sandown, he had the form page on his lap.  'This is my husband Norman' she said.

Without so much as a glance he nodded eyes affixed on the nags that had been emptying his pocket all the afternoon. 'Him and the gee-gees' she scolded and fussed away preparing the tea.

Then a woman in her thirties entered the van. 'This is my daughter Mavis' Said Joan. We shook hands.There followed some small talk and then Joan blurted out 'Mavis was 2nd in the Miss Bridlington Fancy Dress Competition 1990. She was Snow White. Mavis smiled awkwardly, she had heard all this before.

Joan continued 'That Sylvia won it because her dad played golf with one of the judges' she said still harbouring bitterness. It was now apparent that in gardening terms Joan's precious bloom had now gone-over! Sadly poor Mavis was still with Mum and Dad on their early season trips to the van. Joan was now in full control and insisted that I stay the night. 'We have a lean-to extension, Mavis sleeps out there, its got a divider you could go in the other half. Minutes later I heard Mavis crash into her camp bed and she was soon snoring away like a drunken sailor. She eventually awoke me with a loud snort.I awoke with a start finding myself still sitting on the bench, I hauled myself up and later found a pitch for the night. Before passing into oblivion I remember thinking of Mavis and wishing that for this Snow White one day her Prince would come.
12 Sep 08 THE FLOOR EXERCISES

Many of you have recently had the luxury of bringing the Beijing Olympics into your living rooms.

You will have seen the gymnasts on the arena mat bring 'shock and awe' performances to your screens. But little known are the covert ground displays carried out by the UK Septuagenarian Backpackers Guild. Unlike its Olympic counterpart these performances held on camp sites start with just a 'rasping' sound of a zip.

The veterans taking part have long lost any elasticity in their limbs and begin by agonisingly dropping onto their knees producing from their rusty joints cranking sounds reminiscent of the Tin Man in the Wizard of OZ. They then enter their tents an arena area of only 6' x 4'.  However long it takes the tasks of removing their garments, replacing them with night attire, undoing snagged zips then levering the body into a sleeping bag are dealt with by such 'disciplines' as stretching, ground pomelling, arching, and grunting with the liberal use of expletives.

A sudden spasm of cramp can enhance the activity no end with involuntary tumbling, flip-flops and sukuharas. These are not easy within the confines of a tent.  Unlike the Olympiad there is no thunderous arena applause here just a triumphant 'yes' coming out of the campsite darkness from those who have finally trussed themselves up for the night and sobbing from others who are still lying in a heap of despair.

There are no Gold Medals to be won here either.

The points system for this event, known to the unfortunates taking part as the  'nocturnal nightmare' was abandoned years ago as unworkable.  But does it matter.  Some crusty old Baron uttered a 100 years ago that 'Its not the winning that matters its the taking part that counts'

Not the winning!!! The man was a buffoon!

 

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